


Walk In The Park

by navaan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-27
Updated: 2010-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is being followed through the streets of London one stormy night by a cloaked figure. It makes him think about how Sherlock influences his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk In The Park

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Sherlocktoberfest 2010 on lj

The weather was bad. Even for London on a stormy autumn night. Terrible weather to top off a horribly boring day at the clinic.

It had been a stupid idea to take a walk. He had been arguing with Sherlock about the necessity to spent money on a cab so often now, that he felt it was a hypocrisy to take one when he was alone.

Why he hadn’t just found his way to the next train station was beyond him at this point. Maybe he was as stupid as Sherlock made him out to be... Made out everyone, actually.

He adjusted the collar of his jacket, hoping to keep both the rain and the cold out - without any real success.

At the next taxi stand he forgot all about his principles. He wanted to get home and warm. And fast. He checked his wallet. A new habit he had acquired since he lived with a detective with very unconventional beliefs about personal boundaries.

The wallet was empty.

For a moment he considered taking a taxi anyway and let his pickpocket flat mate pay for the ride when he got home. But this was Sherlock. He had been running around on an investigation for days. How likely was it that he was home at all? And how likely was it that he still had the money? Whatever had made it necessary to make an unauthorised loan - again and after more than one heated argument about personal space and possessions - had probably been urgent.

Urgent in Sherlock’s mind at least.

He considered texting him just to tell him he was an impossible, inconsiderate child. But that would only lead to annoyance of wasted seconds or amusement over the pettiness of normal people.

John looked about, weighing his options.

Nobody was around. It was strange to find the normally bustling streets so devoid of life. Even traffic had lessened considerably.

The wind _was_ getting annoying, whirling up leaves and blowing rain into his face.

Taking the shortcut through the park seemed like a good idea as it would at least save him some minutes. It was darker than usual due to the stormy weather and he felt chilled to the bone. He hurried along not caring for anything more but getting home.

He didn’t notice a dark figure following him down the street and into the park.

The trees made it seem even darker and less inviting here. John would normally have enjoyed a walk in the park in autumn. But with the rain getting heavier this was not his idea of fun.

He passed a street lamp and for the first time he noticed movement behind him. A bird wouldn’t be about in this weather. He turned to peer into the darkness. Fallen leaves were swirling in the wind and the now light rain was obscuring the outlines of the trees. The scenery looked like a blotch of different shades of grey.

John felt reminded of Gothic tales and their old-fashioned illustrations.

Maybe he was getting a bit paranoid after his experiences with both Mycroft and Moriarty. Being kidnapped off the street had never been a danger until he moved in with a social inapt genius consultant detective.

He still had the distinct feeling of being watched, though. When he looked over his shoulder a figure in a dark coat was walking along the same way he had come. John didn’t stop walking or make it obvious that he had taken notice. There was no reason to believe this was anything more than a coincidence.

He wasn’t the only person in London that wanted to get home in this dreadful weather.

When the figure was still there after the path had forked two more times John was beginning to feel uneasy again.

He wasn’t exactly the fearful type, but he had come to be more cautious. Safety couldn’t be taken for granted living with Sherlock - because who could be sure that what looked like sugar in your kitchen wasn’t actually something very poisonous. He had also learnt to evaluate facts differently. Nothing could be taken as coincidence until every other option had been excluded by deduction...

John huffed at his own thought process. Sherlock really was a bad influence. Thought provoking, bad influence.

Looking over his shoulder as inconspicuously as possible he could make out a guy of average height in a long dark trench coat. He couldn’t make out his face.

“Only a hat is missing,” he thought to himself. “How cliche...” Sherlock would probably deduct something from it. Bad childhood, bad taste... All John could think of was the silliness of it all.

It wasn’t a laughing matter, though. “I hope this guy is after my wallet,” he thought wryly. “Sadly for him someone else got there first.”

It wasn’t that far anymore. If the sinister shadow wanted to make his move, he’d have to do it soon. John felt the back of his neck prickle with excitement. He turned back towards the main road. Only minutes until he would be out of the park and only a short way from Baker Street.

The man in the dark coat suddenly quickened his steps, just a little. John adjusted his own pace in order to not let him catch up too soon. The person was near enough now for John to hear his steps. But he could also hear traffic.

His pursuer wasn’t making another attempt to catch up.

When he reached the streets of London again he was glad to see that more people seemed to be around again. The wind was still blowing strong, but the rain had lessened enough to get Londoners back out in the open.

He made his way down the street, feeling silly to have worried at all.

It would be nice to just get home now, have a cup of tea and get warm again. And then actively blame his flat mate for his own, very new streak of paranoia.

A couple was running past him - he was holding up his coat over their heads - to catch a cab. He didn’t even wear a decent coat himself. Really, what had he been thinking when he left the flat this morning?

A short glance over his shoulder told him what he had been expecting: No strange dark-coated men were following him out of the park. The danger had passed or had in fact never existed.

He was flabbergasted more than he was afraid when he saw the strange figure in a coat standing right in front of 221B Baker Street. This was surreal to say the least. This person must have taken a short cut to get there before him. How had he done that? And how had he known about Baker Street? He must have done his research. Unlikely a crook would do something like that for a wallet.

John stopped to watch him. The man stood there, slouching and obviously not minding the weather.

This had to stop right now, John decided. “What do you thin you’re doing?” He was nearly shouting, clipped and to the point.

“I’m waiting for you,” a gruff voice answered, strange accent, slightly slurred.

“And what for? Why were you following me?” He tried to get a good look at the guy. Black shaggy hair, equally black and untidy beard obscuring his features. It was impossible to get a good look at him. It seemed he was hiding his face on purpose behind his collar and scarf.

“Ah, so you _did_ notice! I thought so!”

John stared. The voice had changed dramatically. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” The man looked up, so he could finally see the familiar twinkling grey eyes in a still disconcertingly unfamiliar face.

He just knew he was gaping. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought the better of it. Carefully choosing his words he started again. “What exactly was this then? Your idea of Halloween?”

Sherlock huffed, his body language all his own. How had he ever mistaken him for someone of average height and built? The detective was already pulling off the fake beard. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was an experiment.”

John rolled his eyes. “Experiment. I see...” He made a pause for effect. “No, I don’t. Try again.”

“You know this recent bout of fame is poison for my investigations, so...”

“Okay, _I see_.” John pressed a hand against his brow in exasperation... Investigation. Of course. What else? Why did he always turn out to be the guinea pig for the consulting detective’s experiments? And how had his friend know he would be walking...? “Did you leave me literally without a penny so I would walk home in this godforsaken weather?”

His flat mate was already striding to the door. “The money is on your bedside table. I had no sue for it.” When he turned to give John another mirthful glance, he looked a lot more like his flat mate again - and utterly unapologetic.

“How thoughtful,” John said in an obviously sarcastic tone.

Sherlock shrugged indifferently. “Can we have the moral outrage inside?”

John looked at the sky. He felt drenched to the bone by now. “Yeah, why not?” He stepped towards the open door. “Just don’t think I will be making any tea for you this evening.”

“No tea,” Sherlock agreed all too easily.

When John did get a good look at him again, he was throwing his coat haphazardly on the floor of their shared flat and there was one of these cynical half smiles playing around his lips.

“I hope you got enough enjoyment out of this one to last a few days.” John remarked. “I’m not putting up with another round of bored genius after this.”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He just threw himself on the sofa not even bothering to get the rest of his disguise of. He just looked as him with an amused, knowing expression as John started to make them tea. No reason to punish the both of them after all.

“I wasn’t the one bored,” Sherlock mumbled.

John would not answer that one. They both knew the answer anyway.


End file.
